Chapter 8
Emma turned back slowly, holding Lily securely against her chest. The deputies paused, their eyes darting between the matriarch and the broken patriarch.
"What did you say, Richard?" Emma asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Richard let out a harsh, dry chuckle that sounded like stones grinding together. "You think Julian’s car just slid on black ice on Route 7? You think a thirty-six-year-old software titan with an armored Mercedes just happened to plunge off a bridge into fifty feet of freezing water?"
Daniel’s head snapped toward his father, genuine horror washing over his face. "Dad... what are you talking about? The police report said it was an accident! You told me it was an accident!"
"Shut your mouth, Daniel!" Richard snapped, never taking his bloodshot eyes off Emma. "Julian was poking around where he didn't belong. He found out about the offshore shipping manifests in Newark. He was going to turn over state's evidence to the federal task force. He thought he could play the moral crusader."
Emma felt the blood drain from her face. The room seemed to tilt slightly beneath her feet. "What did you do, Richard?"
"I didn't do anything," Richard sneered, his lip curling into a grotesque, triumphant grimace. "I didn't have to. The men who run those terminals don't tolerate whistleblowers. Julian signed his own death warrant the day he opened that safe in his downtown office."
Lily suddenly shifted in Emma’s arms, pointing a small, trembling finger toward Richard’s feet.
"Mommy," Lily whispered, her voice cutting through the suffocating tension. "My card. It’s still under his shoe."
Emma set Lily down gently on a dry patch of hardwood behind Judge Sterling. She walked slowly back into the center of the ruined dining room, her flats stepping over broken china, stopping directly in front of Richard.
"Move your foot," Emma commanded.
Richard didn't move. He stared at her with defiant malice.
The senior deputy stepped up immediately, grabbing Richard by the shoulder and shoving him backward into the wall. "Step back, sir. Now."
Emma knelt down into the mess of spilled wine and crushed herbs. She picked up the handmade Christmas card. The thick white cardstock was creased and blackened by the tread of Richard’s dress shoe, but as Emma peeled it open to check the drawing, she noticed something odd.
May you like
The card was unusually thick. It wasn't standard construction paper. It was a heavy, linen-parchment legal folio folded in half, its inner seams sealed with clear industrial adhesive.
Emma looked up at Lily. "Lily... where did you get this paper to draw on?"
